City Restorations

Feature Article from Hemmings Classic Car

I have to laugh whenever I hear someone say that they have no room in their spacious three-car garage or palatial 2,300-square-foot barn to restore a car. Like you need a space the size of Wal-Mart to remove a fender.
I've seen some incredible restorations come not only out of veal-pen-sized one-car garages, but also those portable, fabric-covered "garages," too. As long as you have sufficient space to walk around the car without snagging your belly on that piece of bent trim sticking out, then you have no excuse not to take on that restoration before you get wheeled away to the home where arts and crafts time begins at 11.
Brooklyn, New York, is clearly not the place to grow up if 110-octane flows through your veins. With some 2.5 million people crammed into a mere 97 square miles, space to work on cars is, to put it mildly, harder to come by than a good dish of linguini and clam sauce in Vermont (cooked al dente, of course!). But with a little imagination, and a total lack of consideration for the people who live next door, old cars can be rebuilt and restored fairly easily, and to a high level to boot.
I know; I've done it. And so have other former Sing Sing graduates that I've known back in Sheepshead Bay. Of course, a few parts here and there may have fallen off a truck in Staten Island, or have been bought from Sheetmetal Sal over at Midnight Auto, but the end result is all that matters.
Growing up without a garage didn't stop me from tearing my car apart, even removing its body from its frame. The alleyway between our house and the Goldsteins next door was incredibly wide, measuring in at almost eight feet. And because it was unbelievably long at nearly 50 feet, I was able to park three cars bumper to bumper. The fact that this wasn't a real driveway meant that we had to cut the curb and make it look like a real driveway. Building permit? What building permit? Just a wink-wink and a "mind your own business" shout-out to the grumpy old lady in the black dress across the street was all that was needed to get the job done. And Vinny and Tony to pour the concrete.
Once the curb was cut, I was able to start making real progress on my restorations. Now I was able to roll the cars down into the street to have more room to work. Of course, that meant blocking the sidewalk, which posed a whole new set of problems. Such as the day I was installing an engine, which happened to coincide with my five-year-old neighbor's birthday party. All the little rugrats couldn't get by in their Big Wheels because the engine hoist was in the way. It's amazing the things those cute, city-bred five-year-olds say to their elders.
Changing engines out in the street brings out all the surrounding "experts," too, turning a basic job into an unplanned block party. These mechanical geniuses have never even seen an engine out of a car, but all are ready to tell you how each step has to be done. Free advice such as this you'll never get working inside a garage out in the country. Even Gino, "the antiques dealer" across the street, knew how to install engines; nothing like taking direction from a guy who wears white patent leather shoes, black knee socks and shorts while mowing his lawn.
Painting cars is another wonderful experience, especially out in the open. Back when you could spray lacquer outside, and obtain a show-quality finish because it dried faster than any bug can fly, painting cars was fun. After I painted one of my cars a bright red in our alleyway, I discovered that overspray sticks quite well, especially on our neighbors' freshly installed white aluminum siding. Good thing he and his wife had glaucoma, or I would have been hit with a huge repair bill.
But the best thing about rebuilding cars in the city is that the whole city is at your disposal, for you to do with as you please. With about one cop per 10,000 citizens, you have a greater chance at winning the Belmont Stakes than having a cop catch you working where you shouldn't.
If you need to do any repair work under your car and don't have a jack, all you need to do is find the tallest curb in the neighborhood, then drive one side of the car up on top. For us, Sunday mornings worked best because everyone was either visiting their cousins in Jersey or traveling to Long Island to plant flowers at the cemetery. With the streets almost empty, finding a tall curb alongside an empty parking space was a breeze.
If you need to wash your car or clean the engine compartment before dropping in that freshly rebuilt engine, having access to an unlimited amount of water with mega pressure is always a wrench turn away. All you need to do is pull up in front of a Johnny pump (that's NYC lingo for fire hydrant), get out your monkey wrench, and presto, instant water access. What better way to fill your radiator with fresh, fluoride-enhanced water than from a Johnny pump?
But perhaps the biggest nuisance, the one that all the friendly neighbors complained most about, was when we would start engines without any exhaust systems attached. If you think a revving engine with just a header bolted on is loud, try pulling that stunt in the city. With the concrete-lined streets absent of trees to absorb any noise, and tall brick-faced houses spaced 12 feet apart all around to bounce soundwaves in ping-pong fashion, the New York Philharmonic had nothing on us.

This article originally appeared in the August, 2008 issue of Hemmings Classic Car.